


Veni, vidi, amavi

by xenia_che



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gladiator!Fili, Light Angst, M/M, Prince!Kili, Spring FRE 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 20:53:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18373889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenia_che/pseuds/xenia_che
Summary: Prompt 102: The prince and the gladiator





	Veni, vidi, amavi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Linane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linane/gifts).



> It was supposed to be PWP, honestly.  
> Hot, sweaty, with bunch of euphemisms and maybe even something kinky added to the mix.  
> But then I've started writing and...well, this happened.
> 
> For Linane who actually inspired me to write this story. And to try writing FiKi at all.  
> Thank you so much  
> I really really hope you like it :)

That’s all Fili has ever known, this life of endless sand and blindingly blue sky over his head. This life of swords and tridents, nets and little daggers that hurt like bitch when driven into shins but mostly useless. This life of masters’ ever swinging moods, so nobody could guess what happens next: a slap, a kiss, a handful of silver or a whipping. It’s never death though, for death is merciful and masters aren’t.

There are many things Fili is good at: wielding swords, countering strikes, ducking and turning, running (when he needs to get to the weapon first) and _not_ running (when he is facing a wild animal like a lion or a tiger). Some say that he is also good in bed (those pallets they sleep on are laughable at best but they’ve learnt to take their pleasure wherever they can).

Fili doesn’t take it personally.

 

* * *

 

They say that life of a Prince is something closer to a dream. They say that Princes walk on clouds, eat freshest meat and drink wine from gods’ cellars. That they have gold and silver, gemstones and pearls to spend, to hold, to bathe in if they want to.

It’s almost true, though Kili doesn’t really care for such odd pleasures. His fingers have always longed to touch hot skin, to run over soft locks and well-trained muscles, but all he’s ever got was gold and stone and sharp panes of diamonds.

Unlike his Uncle, Kili doesn’t rely on gold and gems to keep him company, he’d rather die than succumb to their shine.

 

* * *

 

The good thing is that people love him. Their perfect Golden Warrior, the Lion, the Champion, the everlasting number one. Fili doesn’t rely on that love, for unlike death love can be cruel.

Though when Fili sees _him_ , this foreign Prince in silk robes and silly pointy shoes, with more gold on his hands and neck than one person should bear - something happens. There is no lightening, no thunder, no cracks beneath his feet, just this odd feeling in his chest that makes it hard to breath.

Fili is before him on his knees, his arms and legs covered in little cuts and sweat and sticky sand. The victor brought to Emperor’s stand to receive the short lived praise and a goblet of wine from Emperor’s own cellar.

The wine is sour in Fili’s mouth but his skin prickles under _his_ heavy gaze.

 

* * *

 

When Fili speaks (or more accurately, grumbles his gratitude to Emperor, _may His rain last_ ), all Kili hears is North in the back of his mouth. He frowns for a moment, trying to comprehend how someone not just sun-kissed or sun-bathed but sun-everything can be from the land of winter, where there is always night and snow and ice.

Later Kili will learn that Fili was taken when he was just a child; that he was trained to fight and kill and not a proper way to drawl out vowels.

Kili will also learn so much more than that.

 

* * *

 

Fili is a warrior, a gladiator, he cherishes the simplicity of his life. He fights, he drinks, he shares jokes and laughs, he treats his wounds and attends to his weapons. It is a simple life with simple people, simple encounters and simple touches.

With Kili nothing is simple.

With Kili he is always torn between his habitual actions (to grab, to slap, to bite) and this sudden fear that whispers in his ear that Kili is as fragile as a porcelain doll Fili once saw at the market (and therefore must be treated carefully with light touches and barely-there-kisses).

Kili would take all of the former and none of the latter.

 

* * *

 

“Why am I here?” asks Fili, lying on Kili’s luxurious bed draped in silk and satin, his chest and abdomen bare. Kili slides his fingers over Fili’s overheated skin, memorizing every line, every scar, every abrasion.

“This is your prize for well-fought combat.” says Kili, his voice too soft even for his own ears. Uncle would mock him if he’d heard him right now.

“Or am I yours?” Fili narrows his eyes but there is a light smile on his lips. Kili loves to see him smiling, though Fili prefers to grin and smirk.

“Mine, yes.” Kili nods absently, lowering his hand, moving aside the precious cloths. “That is more accurate.”

Fili doesn’t ask again.

 

* * *

 

Fili knows best the simple pleasure, fast and hot, few rapid moves to find his own release while others seek theirs. He isn’t used to the luxury of long touches, drawn out kisses, unhurried thrusts.

He also isn’t used to inactivity.

But Kili is. Most of his life he’s been fighting boredom, losing more often than winning. So he has learnt to sit still, to walk slowly, to lie on his back staring in the sky for hours until the sun starts drooping to horizon.

And now he has someone to share his knowledge with.

* * *

 

It happens one day, when they’re both lying on the faded grass in the Emperor’s garden (in the part of his palace that he placed in Kili’s service). Fili feels almost lethargic with the sun on his skin and Kili’s fingers in his grown out hair.

It’s so quiet that Fili can hear the buzzing of bees, the muffled whisper of hot wind and if he tries hard enough - the steady rhythm of Kili’s heart. It strikes him that for the first time in years and years there is no fathom clang of weapons in his ears.

Then Kili speaks.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” he says so quietly that Fili almost doesn’t hear. He wishes that he hadn’t. “My country needs me.”

“I can relate.” mutters Fili and then surprises himself by grabbing Kili’s wrists and slamming him on the ground. Kili lies there, pinned by Fili’s heavy frame, and looks at him as if he hang the moon.

“What are you doing?” asks Kili after a long, drown out silence. His hips shift under familiar now weight.

“Claiming my prize before it will be taken from me.” pants Fili, feeling suddenly so aroused that it almost hurts. He thrusts his hips, drawing a low moan out of Kili’s throat.

“You’ve claimed me just an hour ago.” chuckles Kili, arching from the ground to get closer to Fili’s body.

“All the more reasons to do it again.” rumbles Fili and tears Kili’s silk robes with bare hands. It their time together he’s learnt how unimportant can be something that looks so luxurious and feels so soft and yet stands on the way of more important matters.

 

* * *

 

Kili has never been interested in gemstones, though now he thinks he will veneer his chambers with beryls and sapphires. And probably die of melancholy short after that.

 

* * *

 

Fili has never known other love than love of the cheering crowd. He now regrets learning that other kind of love exists.

 

* * *

 

“Or you could come with me.” says Kili when the tension between them grows unbearable.

They stand in the doorway of Kili’s borrowed chambers, their little sanctuary now turned to dust.

“And be your what?” snorts Fili, his leather armour too heavy and itchy after Kili’s gentle touches and silky robes. “Your bed-slave? Your toy, your trophy?”

“And be mine.” Kili smiles, and the world goes still for a moment.

  
And then comes the lightening and the thunder, and the next thing Fili knows it’s pouring rain upon them both. Fili tucks a wet stray lock behind Kili’s ear and laughs so loud that horses standing nearby neigh, startled.

Kili doesn’t have to ask twice.


End file.
